Sold! Corinthian Helmet Baseball Cap

 

Sold 7/30/2025 through Redbubble to an admirer of art in the US:
1x Baseball Cap of Corinthian Helmet.
Thanks, buyer! Much appreciated!

Nonfiction Article "Vampiric UFOs"

Disturbing tales of alien abductions already suggest that some of Earth’s extraterrestrial visitors may display a less-than-benevolent attitude toward mankind. However, certain reported encounters with dangerous craft and sinister entities hint at an even darker side to the complex and perplexing phenomenon of UFOs. Perhaps a few beings from beyond possess a thirst for blood comparable to that of the undead vampires of traditional lore. In these instances, humans aren’t the subjects of invasive examinations or weird experiments, they are merely prey.

Central and South America seems to be a hotbed of alleged encounters with vampiric UFOs (Guiley, 2005). Locals have dubbed the objects vampire lights, bugs, things, and perhaps most evocatively, chupa-chupas (Mendes, n.d.). Derived from the same root as the more familiar term chupacabra, chupa-chupa means “the sucker”, an apt description of the apparent thirst for blood exhibited by these particular extraterrestrials (Mendes, n.d.; Guiley, 2005).

Beginning in August 1977, reports from the Brazilian region of Pará, specifically the Amazonian island of Colares, related strange encounters with glowing vessels and potentially lethal beams of light. At first, witnesses described nothing more than illuminated flying machines similar to other UFOs spotted around the world. A fisherman taking an early morning walk along the beach saw an umbrella-shaped craft hovering four meters above the earth. One man spied airborne luminous spheres on two different occasions in two separate locations. A married couple spotted an intense orange light fly in from the direction of the ocean and vanish as it soared over the island’s interior. A carpenter and a fisherman both reported run-ins with peculiar glowing orbs. Locals feared these strange lights due to their habit of swooping low and skimming over the ground (Booth, n.d.).

Perhaps the fright the residents of Colares felt regarding their glowing visitors was not entirely unfounded, since the events took a decidedly bizarre and life-threatening turn. The objects acquired a new trait, and began flashing debilitating beams at select victims, causing sickness and even death. A total of thirty-five individuals suffered from mysterious ailments after encountering chupa-chupas on the island. Two died (Booth, n.d.).

Chupa-chupa victims complained of faintness and anemia, as if the lights had siphoned off a significant quantity of blood. Medical examinations showed that those attacked by these vampiric UFOs exhibited, among other symptoms, lesions like radiation burns to the face or torso and small punctures where the beams had struck their flesh. Many had lost about three-hundred milliliters of blood from the site of these tiny holes (Booth, n.d.). Tests confirmed an abnormal decrease of hemoglobin levels in their blood. And some chupa-chupa victims continued to suffer chronic health problems such as headaches, weakness, dizziness, and paranoia long after their initial encounter (Guiley, 2005).

In one instance, three women were attacked by a beam of light coming from a small UFO. The ray struck them in their breasts, and caused a sensation not unlike receiving an electric shock. All three felt an extreme nervous tension and unexplainable languor, seemingly brought on by exposure to the strange light (Booth, n.d.).

A Colares barber told an especially interesting story, one that only deepens the mystery surrounding the chupa-chupa phenomenon. Instead of bearing witness to the depredations of an alien device, he encountered a potentially harmful orb. The man claimed that ball of fire entered his home near the roof. It shot around the room and then drew near his right leg. As he watched it glide from one leg to the other, he began to feel sleepy and weak. Certain that the fireball was searching for a vein, the barber managed to yell for help. The orb disappeared (Booth, n.d.).

Although many who survived encounters with the Colares chupa-chupa described attacks by lights or coffin-shaped craft (Corrales, 2003), at least one victim claimed to have come face-to-face with a vampiric humanoid. Sleeping in her hammock one night, the witness was awakened by a bright green light coming through her window (Guiley, 2005). The light struck her on the left side of her chest, and she felt a terrible heat. The woman then caught glimpse of an umbrella-shaped object and a small-eyed being clad in tight-fitting green clothes holding a pistol-like device. The burning ray emanated from the apparent weapon (Booth, n.d.). Turning from green to red, the light seemed to perforate the woman’s skin like needles (Guiley, 2005). The victim felt as if blood had been drawn off by the beam. She suffered from migraines and weakness, and her health never fully recovered (Booth, n.d.).

Chupa-chupa activity in the Amazonian delta seems to have peaked in the late seventies, but attacks continued into the eighties. In 1981 a hunter fired his shotgun at an object that had trapped him in its paralyzing beam. A plantation worker suffered radiation burns after a chupa-chupa shot a ray through the roof of her home (Corrales, 2003). Bodies that appeared drained of blood were found in the Brazilian towns of Parnama, São Luis, and Belém. Ufologist Jacques Vallée links these deaths to the chupa-chupas (Guiley,2005). Even though attacks are reported with much less frequency today than during the height of the flap, they do still occur on occasion (Booth, n.d.).

Eventually, the Brazilian government became interested in the chupa-chupas. One ufologist, Daniel Rebisso Giese, claims that the Brazilian version of Project Blue Book, Operacao Plato, gathered quite a bit of photographic, video, and audio material pertaining to the phenomenon (Corrales, 2003). A report on the chupa-chupa flap allegedly contains two-thousand pages, five-hundred photographs, and sixteen hours of film (Mendes, n.d.). Military helicopters tried to pursue these vampiric devices, to no avail. And the Brazilian army may have discovered that even those not directly attacked by chupa-chupas could still suffer ill-effects, for nervous breakdowns and insanity plagued some of the soldiers assigned to Operacao Plato (Corrales, 2003).

No matter where you reside on this blue planet of ours, if you see mysterious lights in the night sky, don’t stick around to find out what they are. Never assume that all extraterrestrials visit Earth with good intentions in their alien hearts. You never know, they may just be chupa-chupas looking for blood to slake their thirst.

References

Booth, B.J. (n.d.). “Brazilian Island of Colares – UFO Encounters of 1977”. UFO Casebook. Retrieved 26 July, 2008, from http://www.ufocasebook.com/colares1977.html.

Corrales, S. (2003). “Saucers and Soldiers? The Amazon Scenario Examined”. Rense.com. Retrieved 26 July, 2008, from http://www.rense.com/general33/ss.htm.

Guiley, R.E. (2005). The Encyclopedia of Vampires, Werewolves, and Other Monsters. New York: Checkmark Books.

Mendes, C. (n.d.). “Brazilian Air Force Admits Investigation on UFOs”. UFO Resource Center: UFORC News Service. Retrieved 26 July, 2008, from http://www.uforc.com/news021505/uforc_ufo-Br_Br-AF_UFO-investigation_1977-1978_012605.html.

 (Article originally published in Hungur, Issue 7, All Souls’ Night 2008.)

Nonfiction Article "The Alp and the Schrattl"

According to traditional Germanic lore, strange creatures haunted the craggy peaks and shadowed vales of the European Alps. Some of these beings delighted in troubling humankind, using supernatural powers to harass and even prey upon vulnerable mortals. Certain examples of Alpine bogey, such as the Alp and its more dangerous and ghoulish sub-type the Schrattl, combined the traits of fairy, vampire, and sorcerer to become feared threats to those living in the shadows of the snow-capped mountains of central Europe. A few even exhibited a taste for blood reminiscent of the Slavic vampire.

Several different folkloric threads seem to have been woven together by Alpine storytellers in the creation of the tapestry of Alp lore. Originally, Alpe were conceived as magical metal-working dwarves, inhabitants of the dark places deep within the mountains (Rose, 1998). Later, Alpe evolved into bringers of nightmares and disease, beings with a penchant for sitting on the chests of unsuspecting sleepers to cause breathing troubles and bad dreams (Franklin, 2002). At times, Alpe sexually assaulted humans in the manner of incubi, and were even known to suck blood from the nipples of both sexes (Guiley, 2005). In addition to blood, Alpe also consumed milk and semen (Curran, 2005). In a motif echoed in the fairy lore of Europe’s Celtic fringe, Alpe occasionally knotted the hair of sleeping mortals and took nighttime joyrides on the backs of unprotected horses (Franklin, 2002).

The exact nature of the Alp often depended upon location, varying from place to place. In parts of Germany and Austria, the Alp manifested as a malignant revenant (Curran, 2005). In other parts of Germany, Alpe remained living dwarfs, albeit ones imbued with elemental powers (Curran, 2005). Certain tales told of Alpe appearing as vampiric butterflies released by the breath of the demonic horerczy (Guiley, 2005). In the Brocken and Herz Mountains, Alpe served witches, often spreading evil in the form of cats or voles (Curran, 2005). Under certain circumstances, living mortals could become Alpe, either through sinister sorcery or through a mother’s unforgiven sins (Curran, 2005). Regardless of appearance, whether it be pig, bird, cat, vole, or lecherous dog, each Alp in animal form typically wore a magical hat which granted it the ability to shape-shift and to render itself invisible (Guiley, 2005).

While some variations of the Alp undoubtedly displayed vampiric tendencies amongst their diverse range of disturbing traits, the Austrian Schrattl was a vampire in the truest sense, a revenant roaming Alpine nights in search of blood. Roused to a semblance of life while still interred in the grave, the animated corpse of the Schrattl would tear and gnaw at its funeral shroud until it devoured the winding cloths (Curran, 2005). The Schrattl then turned its hunger toward the bodies of those buried in nearby graves and launched attacks against its former family and friends (Curran, 2005). Not content with assaults against humans alone, the Schrattl assailed animals and property as well (Curran, 2005). Possessed of fearsome mental powers, the Schrattl could drive its potential victims and those it wished to control insane (Curran, 2005). Typical of vampires worldwide, the Schrattl also spread disease in its dreadful wake (Curran, 2005).

Germanic tellers of dark tales threw various strains of ancient belief into the pot to create the potentially deadly stew that was Alp lore. Witches, demons, sorcerers, dwarfs, fairies, and vampires all lent different attributes to the Alp hodge-podge. No matter the form the Alp took, dangerous dwarf or vampiric butterfly, ghoulish revenant or shape-shifting sorcerer, it could be a potent threat to human life and well-being. Although various Alpe may have thirsted for blood and other bodily fluids, the vampiric nature of these creatures expressed itself most strongly in the shroud-eating Schrattl. Powerful and extremely malignant, the Schrattl troubled all mortals it encountered during its nocturnal forays across the Alpine countryside.

References

Curran, Dr. Bob. (2005). Vampires: A Field Guide to the Creatures That Stalk the Night. Franklin Lakes, New Jersey: New Page Books.

Franklin, Anna. (2002). The Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Fairies. London: Anova Books.

Guiley, Rosemary Ellen. (2005). The Encyclopedia of Vampires, Werewolves, and Other Monsters. New York: Checkmark Books.

Rose, Carol. (1998). Spirits, Fairies, Leprechauns, and Goblins: An Encyclopedia. New York: W.W. Norton & Company.

(Article originally published in Hungur, Issue 10, Walpurgisnacht 2010.)

Fantasy Short Story "Vengeance of the Alpe"

 

While Carius the Uncanny prowled lea and dale in search of monkshood and belladonna for use in various nefarious concoctions, he spied a site far more pleasing to his lecherous eyes than any blossom or berry. A young maid of exceptional beauty tended a small herd in high pasture. Surrounded by an aura of innocence and purity that drew men’s hearts like the mystical lodestone attracted iron filings, the lass knew little about the more dangerous nature of womanly allure. She blissfully sang the strains of an old folk tune about valiant heroes and true love as she went about her business, at first unaware that she had caught the attention of the region’s most notorious practitioner of the dark arts.

Passion’s fire burned in odd places as Carius watched the maid skip from cow to cow. He grinned crookedly as a leg flashed from beneath linen skirt and flaxen hair bobbed upon pretty head. The wizard yearned to make the maid his. To corrupt such a pure soul would be quite a feather in his pointed cap, but he also knew that his arcane powers might fail against such innocence. To sprout in another’s mind, his enchantments needed a seed of darkness planted in fertile ground. Carius decided to use subtler charms against the maid, to enthrall her body and spirit through flattery, and more.

“Good day,” Carius grunted as he approached the object of his desire.

“Good day to you, sir,” the maid replied. Wary of the hoary stranger, she looked down at her toes as she spoke.

“I am Carius the Uncanny,” the wizard proclaimed with a flourish, certain that his reputation preceded him. “Who might you be? The goddess Aphrodite mingling amongst us mortals, perhaps?”

Although she wasn’t quite sure who Aphrodite was, and was leery of the old man’s reputation for foul misdeeds, Hilde let the smallest of smiles break upon her face. She appreciated the apparent compliment. Besides, her mother had always told her to be kind to even the strangest of strangers. Otherwise, she would have bolted from the pasture to escape the wizard’s repugnant stare.

“My name is Hilde,” the maid said. “I am a mere milkmaid, nothing more.”

“Modesty and beauty together, what a truly rare quality!” Carius exclaimed as his bushy brows knitted together in an expression of mild surprise. “My dear, you are more than mere milkmaid. I have wandered this plane for more moons than I care to remember. I have seen many wonderful sights, but none compare in grace and comeliness to the one I see before me now. You are purer than mountain snow, more awe-inspiring than a sunset sky aflame, and more exquisite than a string of mounted pearls. You are, simply put, the loveliest thing I have ever laid eyes upon.”

Hilde wished to say that Carius was the ugliest thing she had ever seen, with a face as cragged as the snow-capped peaks that rose high above that little mead, but she held her tongue. Instinct told her to say as little as possible in hope that the wizard would take his unwholesome interest elsewhere. She merely stated that she was no goddess.

“Ah,” Carius cooed as he sensed an opening, “You could be. Beauty such as yours should grace tapestried court, not dung-filled pasture. As a goddess amongst men, you could whisper wise advice in a king’s ear, instead of reciting foolish ballads to a herd of cows. You could garb yourself in robes of velvet and cloth-of-gold, instead of being forced to wear that wretched homespun kirtle. You could have the power of the gods. I could show you how, if you but let me.”

Visions of lofty towers, glittering halls, and gaily attired nobles drifted through Hilde’s dreamy head. She imagined herself a princess in one of those old tunes, rescued from a dragon’s hungry jaws by a handsome knight. She envisioned herself marrying her gallant champion, and living an idyllic life in his gleaming castle.

For the briefest moment, Hilde seriously considered the wizard’s offer. Simple sense then prevailed, and the thought quickly passed. Amused by her momentary lapse of good judgment, she twittered like a springtime warbler newly returned to its summer roost.

“That is not the life for me,” Hilde chuckled.

“The world could be yours,” Carius growled. “Consider my proposal carefully, child. I do not make such offers lightly, and to refuse such a gracious gift would be a great insult.”

“If I were to accept, what must I give in return?” Hilde asked. She reasoned, based on her knowledge of old tales, that such things were rarely given without some burdensome cost attached.

Carius smirked sinisterly. He suspected that his prey teetered on the edge of his trap, and needed just a nudge to tumble headfirst into the pit.

“The power and knowledge of the ancients, the grace and wealth and nobility, would all be yours, if you would but be mine,” the wizard replied. His icy blue eyes flared menacingly.

“That sounds too high a price to pay,” Hilde muttered. She shifted about nervously, unable to pull herself free from the wizard’s preternatural gaze, but unwilling to give in to his unpalatable proposal. She wished for a real rescuer.

“Is this person troubling you, Hilde?” a lad’s voice called out, breaking the spell.

Gunther the Shepherd stood at the ready, with rowan staff in both hands and growling dog at his side. He had seen Carius take an unnatural interest in Hilde, and left his flock grazing the hillside to protect a more distressed soul. His own fondness for the pretty maid was well known, but Hilde had never shown the shepherd much affection in return. More often than not, she would avoid Gunther’s clumsy attempts at conversation. Now she beamed at the sight of the rough shepherd in his sheepskin coat and leather leggings.

Carius seethed, thwarted in his lustful designs by a simple rustic. Whether through accident or design, Gunther’s choice of material for his plainest of weapons deftly countered the wizard’s diabolic sorcery. Plus, the sharp teeth of the shepherd’s loyal companion proved a powerful deterrent against further action.

“I am troubled no longer,” Hilde said. Somehow, she knew that the wizard’s terrible will had suddenly waned. With bolstered confidence, she turned toward Carius. “You ask too high a price. I am sorry if you are insulted, but I decline your offer. For the sake of my heart and soul, I must say no.”

“You may just be sorry, my dear,” Carius snarled.

“Be gone!” Gunther shouted as he brandished his staff over his head. His dog barked fiercely. “Leave this maid alone, or by my maker, I will crack open your rotten skull!”

Rebuffed and threatened, and unable to act against the natural power of rowan wood, Carius backed away. Besides, for all his mystical wizardry, he dared not risk physical confrontation. A swift blow, or jaws about his throat, could end a fight before he uttered a single incantation. And such magic would be useless anyway while the shepherd carried his staff.

“Come, Hilde”, Gunther said as he offered the maid his arm. “I will walk you home.”

“That is an offer I will accept.” Hilde said. “Right now, I would feel much better walking home with you at my side, than being on my own amongst the cows.”

Hilde headed, arm-in-arm with Gunther, down the hillside toward her family’s farm and the secure embrace of her father and three brothers. The shepherd and his dog both kept a wary eye on Carius the whole way, but Hilde never looked back.

“If I cannot have you for my own, no one will,” Carius grumbled to himself as he watched the two youths depart for friendlier surroundings.

***

Back in the dim seclusion of his cluttered wizard’s den tucked away in the shadowed hollow of a rocky spur, Carius plotted. By the smoky light of tallow candles mounted in human skulls, he poured over his arcane tomes and mystical scrolls. The wizard searched for just the right vehicle for his revenge. He decided that the maid must die, but how? Potions and poisons required close contact, something he was reluctant to hazard again. Hexes and incantations worked from afar, but could be countered by protective symbols, holy charms, and even natural defenses. No, he required something that could slither in undetected, and yet possess the strength to perform the deed swiftly and surely. He needed something more potent, something more elemental.

Carius found the answer within the cracked parchment pages of an old book bound in faded red leather. Translated into Low Latin from a long-forgotten tongue, the treatise detailed the lore surrounding the dwarfish alpe, servants of the ancient gods. Partly gods themselves, these blood-thirsty, shape-shifting beings once patrolled sullen forest path and misty mountain pass. Feared by men for the harm they did in the names of their cruel masters, the alpe guarded sacred sites and wild places against mortal intrusion. They also wrought magical arms in subterranean halls, weapons used in the ultimately futile war against human encroachment. Driven deep underground by a new faith, cut off from their former lords by fading beliefs, they eventually became the stuff of nightmare and legend.

The work went on to say that, through the use of black arts, the dreaded alpe might be drawn from their dark lairs and sent forth to plague mankind once more. At the behest of an individual of great skill, they may spread disease and bad dreams. They could even be used as instruments of death, eagerly consuming a victim’s life-blood.

Determined to set the alpe upon Hilde, Carius prepared the necessary spells. He slit a vein in his arm with a ceremonial blade and let a copious amount of blood drip into a stone bowl carved with runes. After he bandaged his arm with cloth strips steeped in a powerful healing elixir, he took up the stone bowl and stirred in a pinch of dirt from an alpine glen. He then spoke a binding incantation over the crimson mixture. Grabbing a piece of chalk retrieved long ago from a distant shore, Carius drew a circle on the flagstone floor. He then unrolled a scroll of summoning and studied the letters intently before reciting the words that would call the alpe.

“As if a god of olden days, I command the alpe to come to me,” Carius intoned. “In the names of deities now lost to time, I summon thee! Those who once waited upon timeless divinities, come to me. With blood and soil, with words of power, with thoughts and deeds, I summon thee! Forsake your place snuggled within Gaea’s cool embrace, and come to me. Alpe, I summon thee!”

An unnatural wind blew through the wizard’s den, rattling the many weird metallic devices that hung from the rafters. This cold draught carried the dusty scent of rock and earth. Wispy shadows swirled in the agitated air. Dusky shades murmured strange chants as they took on more solid shapes. Smoky strands coalesced into arms, legs, and torsos. Soon a belligerent horde of hairy little men surrounded Carius.

Each alp was clad in leather breeches and wore a wide-brimmed scarlet hat. Grime matted their unkempt beards. Deep furrows lined their ugly faces. Pinpoint embers of malice burned in their coal-black eyes as they glowered at their summoner. They stomped their feet and spat curses as they tried to break the wizard’s magic circle, to no avail.

Carius remained calm, confident in his ability to control that rowdy rabble. He placed the bowl containing his own blood outside the chalk circle.

“Please, partake of my offering,” the wizard said as he gestured toward the bowl. “Take of me, and perhaps give something of yourselves in return.”

The alpe greedily descended upon the bowl, eagerly lapping up the blood. They passed the vessel around amongst themselves, each one taking his share, until it was licked bone dry.

“As a god of old, I called you, and now I control you!” Carius declared. “With your element and my blood, I bind you to my will. Now, go. Use the uncanny abilities given you by your past masters and find the maid called Hilde. Make her pay for rejecting me. Take from her until you can take no more!”

Bound to the wizard’s will by the spell of blood, the alpe were forced to obey. With a nod, each alp transformed itself into a black-winged butterfly. Then the fluttering cloud drifted up the chimney and into the night.

***

Safely tucked into bed, Hilde slept fitfully on her straw-filled mattress. Frightful dreams disturbed her rest. A lecherous dog chased her through a murky wood. As she fled the baying hound, and plunged deeper and deeper into the forest, she heard an unearthly voice call her name. A tall, muscular figure sporting antlers atop his head stepped out of the mist. Hilde tried to run, but she could not move. The fearsome being grabbed her and demanded possession of her body and soul. Hilde tried to refuse, but she could not speak. The dark entity ravaged the maid while dreadful dwarfs danced gleefully around the brutal scene. Then the brute tossed her down a bottomless pit.

As Hilde found herself trapped in the clutches of her terrible nightmare, a bevy of ebon butterflies entered her room through the unglazed window. They alit upon her heaving breast and pierced bedclothes and skin to drink her blood. Instinctively sensing life ebbing away, endlessly falling through a lightless void in her dream, Hilde screamed.

“Hilde!” Gunther cried out as he leapt into the room through the window. Being the protective sort, and thinking the wizard might assail Hilde during the night, the shepherd had posted himself outside the maid’s window. Drowsiness and darkness had dulled his attentiveness, and he hadn’t seen the diabolic insects pass right over his head.

The butterflies arose from Hilde’s bloodied bosom. Irritated at having their meal interrupted, they swarmed around Gunther. They pricked him with their oddly sharp snouts. They darted and dodged as he tried to strike them with his staff. He hit a few as he swung, and the swarm pulled back. The alpe then metamorphosed into their true forms and renewed their attack upon the shepherd. Pointed teeth tore at Gunther’s flesh as lapping tongues licked his oozing wounds.

Hearing the commotion, Hilde’s father and brothers burst into the room. Knowing of Gunther’s vigil outside Hilde’s room, they had kept their own watch inside the cottage, with rustic weapons at the ready. Hilde’s father grasped an iron-tined hayfork, while her brothers brandished broad knives.

The sight of cold steel glimmering in the moonlight that poured through the window drove off the alpe. They scurried over the sill and scuttled across the rocky hills, swiftly disappearing into the darkness. None of the mortals cared to follow.

“My rescuer,” Hilde declared as she wrapped her arms around Gunther’s neck and kissed his tanned cheek. She then slumped back down onto her bed.

“This was that devil wizard’s work,” the shepherd groaned breathlessly, exhausted by the encounter, and the loss of blood. “I am sure of it.”

Hilde nodded weakly. She knew a little something about the darker tales. She had heard roving storytellers whisper about the alpe, and knew those fey folk could be summoned and enslaved by fell witches and foul warlocks.

“Where do you think they have gone?” Gunther wondered.

“Back to their homes beneath the mountains,” Hilde said. “Or back to their master.”

***

Just prior to dawn’s break, Carius heard a furious rapping and vile cussing at his door. The oaken boards began to creak and groan under the pressure applied by his rudely insistent visitors. Suspecting that his new-found servants had returned from their nightly foray, Carius undid the iron latch before they battered down the door. The alpe tumbled over the threshold in a tousled mass. Their filthy faces twisted into savage scowls, and their eyes blazed, as they gathered around the wizard.

“So, have you carried out my vengeance?” Carius asked the throng of angry, and still very hungry, alpe. “Is the deed done?”

The alpe spoke not a word, but turned on their summoner. Hairy forms swarmed over the wizard’s frame, wreaking their own kind of vengeance. Unsatisfied until they drained every single drop from the man’s veins, the alpe took their master’s blood, and his life. They then returned in a flash to their secret homes in dark hollows deep within the roots of the mountains, leaving Carius’s dried husk behind as warning to all who might tempt a similar fate.

(Story originally published in Hungur, Issue 11, All Souls’ Night 2010, and reprinted in Night to Dawn, Issue 21, April 2012.)

Drabble "The Abominable Snowman Snowless"

 

 

The Abominable Snowman Snowless

By Richard H. Fay

Once his cherished snowfields melted, the Himalayan Yeti faced an identity crisis. With pebbly vale and rocky peak stripped bare, he could not leave tracks to flummox those human adventurers that ventured up into his lofty domain.
 
The pathetic beast pondered his plight. He sat on a stone and sobbed. The thought that he would fade away like the vanished snows twisted his gut into tangled knots.

Then the brute got a ridiculous notion. He donned a broad hat and long coat, booked a flight to Miami, and moved next door to his cousin, the Skunk Ape of the Everglades.

(Originally published in The Drabbler #19: Climate Change, September 2011. Honorable Mention in the 19th Sam's Dot Drabble Contest.)

Sci-Fi Poem "Wondrous Gobbledygook"

And yet another poem from my now out-of-print speculative poetry collection... 

"Wondrous Gobbledygook" published Apr 2011 in the webzine Aphelion, Oct 2016 in Altered Reality Magazine and Feb 2022 in the scifi fanzine HimmelSkibet (in Kenneth Krabat’s review of Peter Graarup Westergaard’s poetry collection Warning Light Calling).

Wondrous Gobbledygook

By Richard H. Fay

On a wonderful Nagoogoo morn,
While the bumox skip across the fwa,
I strum the strings of my zidipip
And slowly sip a gurgle burgle
Beside the pink waters of Baffbee.

On the puboo of a keckleschmeck,
I spy a blue-green fuguwordle
Crawling upon an etafal leaf.
I pluck a crimson syton flower
And place it in Zabugana’s hair.

On a glittering Nagoogoo night
Wududolons wing across Phreetum
And the violet shlubiyemps sing.
A gentle breeze blows off of Baffbee
As Zabugana lies next to me.

(Originally published April 2011 in the webzine Aphelion.)

Fantasy Cinquain "Woodwose"

 

Still another poem from my now out-of-print speculative poetry collection...

Cinquain "Woodwose" published Dec 2011 in the webzine Aphelion and also Oct 2016 in the webzine Altered Reality Magazine.

Background illustration "Bigfoot Portrait 2 (Human-Like)" on merchandise in my PoD shops.

Woodwose 

Saplings 
quiver then bow,
bent by a hirsute brute
possessed of gleaming eyes far too
human.

Sci-Fi Poem "Texas Stargazin'"

Still another poem from my now out-of-print speculative poetry collection...

Poem "Texas Stargazin'" originally published November 2010 in Issue #7 of Abandoned Towers.
 
"Texas Stargazin'" illustration previously unpublished in a zine of anthology.

Texas Stargazin’

Saunter out onto the wide-open range
Amidst prickly pears and lowing longhorns.
Gaze up into that great big Texan sky
And ponder the wonders of the heavens.

Draw cowboys in that glittering cosmos.
Spy Pecos Bill cracking his rattler whip
And wrangling a gigantic stellar steer.
Predict your future in their shining trails.

Mark the flaming course of a shooting star
Burning so bright across the firmament.
Make just one wish before it disappears,
But hope it’s not the last this awesome night.

See lights landing upon the desert sands,
Then greet green-skinned visitors to our world.
Climb aboard their glimmering silver ship
To witness the marvels of outer space
Close up.

Fantasy Cinquain "Fairy Bandits"

Yet another poem from my now out-of-print speculative poetry collection...

Fantasy cinquain "Fairy Bandits", which was originally published December 2009 in the webzine Aphelion.

Background photo by yours truly.

Fairy Bandits

Shadows
swiftly fleeting
laugh in darkened pantry
as bread meant for morning meal goes
missing.

Sci-Fi Cinquain "Lights in the Sky"

Another cinquain that had been exclusive to my now out-of-print speculative poetry collection (although I had previously shared it online)...

Lights in the Sky

Weird stars
glimmer o’erhead,
pulsing red, green, and blue,
then rocket earthward to become
spacecraft.
 

More (Fairly) Recently Penned Poems: "Storm of Storms", "In All Battles, God is at Your Side", "I Keep Worrying", and "My Fortress"

 

Storm of Storms 

By Richard H. Fay 

Mother Earth cries; 
Tempestuous rains fall. 
Mother Earth sighs; 
Tumultuous winds blow. 
Mother Earth heaves; 
Calamitous waves break. 
Mother Earth grieves; 
Ruinous rage destroys. 

In All Battles, God is at Your Side

By Richard H.Fay

Go box a gorilla —
God is on your side!
Go punch a lion —
God is on your side!
Go kick an elephant —
God is on your side! 
Go slap a shark — 
God is on your side!
Go jab a bull — 
God is on your side!
Go smack a cobra —
God is on your side!
Go choke a bear — 
God is at your side!
Go find a brave new way to die 
And God will be at your side.

 

I Keep Worrying

By Richard H. Fay

I keep fretting over the state of the world.
My weary heart keeps pounding in my chest
As these ringing ears hear frightful predictions
Made by scientists warning of Earth’s doom.

I keep dwelling over the sorry state of things;  
Dire thoughts have me living in constant dread.
A rolling dark pall keeps dimming my dreams
And blinding my mind’s eye to sunnier vistas.

I keep running away from the rancorous strife
Tearing this precious world apart by the seams,
But these ever-moving feet get me nowhere fast
And the spreading hate keeps troubling my soul.

I keep praying for some peace and tranquility 
Desperately trying to raise my flagging spirit.
An endless worrying, a ceaseless brooding, 
Keeps dragging me down into a lightless void.

My Fortress

By Richard H. Fay

I build a crenelated wall
Around my embattled soul
As a defense against people
To protect an embittered heart
Broken far too many times
By unempathetic persons.

I stand upon stout battlements
Defending my wounded spirit
From assaults by chance sentiments
That might lead me astray
And tempt me to open those gates
Shut tight against human emotions.

I bind myself to the ashlar blocks
Of this inviolable mental fortress
So none may ever coax me to leave
The safety of its stony embrace
And find comfort from the warmer
But fickle love of fellow mortals.

Nonfiction Article "Vampiric Creatures of Ancient Myth and Legend"

Ever since mankind first imagined mythic threats alongside the mundane, creatures that feasted on the blood or life-force of humans haunted the long, dark night. Blood-sucking monsters, life-draining fiends, and the revenant dead featured in the myths and legends of many diverse cultures across the globe and throughout history. Even though the concept of the vampire as an animated corpse feeding on the blood of the living became most fully developed in medieval Eastern Europe (Curran, 2005, p. 33; Richardson, n.d.), the idea of strange and supernatural creatures sustaining themselves on human vitality goes back centuries.

The great-great grandmother of vampiric creatures in Western lore may have been the winged female entity known as Lilith. This spiteful demoness entered early Hebrew tradition through Mesopotamian mythology about beings such as Lilitu, a wind and storm spirit (Matthews & Matthews, 2005, p. 366). Lilith was either Adam’s first wife or became his lover after the expulsion from the Garden of Eden. Jealous of the fruits of marital unions and angry over God’s destruction of hundreds of her own demonic offspring, Lilith became the vampiric bane of women in childbirth and newborn babes (Guiley, 2005, p. 181; Matthews & Matthews, 2005, p. 367.) She also sought sexual intercourse with lonely and vulnerable men, leaving her male victims exhausted or even dead after their night of sinful passion (Curran, 2006, p. 23). In an interesting parallel to vampire lore regarding the crucifix as a potent protection against the predatory undead, magic amulets and holy talismans could thwart Lilith’s unholy advances and infanticidal attacks (Guiley, 2005, p. 181; Matthews & Matthews, 2005, p. 366).

According to the apocryphal text Testament of Solomon, King Solomon encountered and eventually controlled a vampiric, shape-shifting demon named Ornias. During the construction of Solomon’s Temple of Jerusalem, Ornias appeared every day at sunset to steal a portion of the wages, food, and very soul of the head workman’s boy. The lad wasted away as the demon drained his life by sucking on his thumb. Given a magical ring by the archangel Michael, Solomon subdued the demon and ordered him to cut stone for the temple. Terrified to touch iron tools, Ornias begged to be freed. Solomon then sought the aid of the archangel Uriel, who commanded the demon to obey. Once his work was completed, Ornias was delivered to Beelzebub, the Prince of Demons (Guiley, 2005, p. 223; Peterson, 1997).

Babylonian and Assyrian storytellers told tales of the revenant ekimmus. Individuals that died violent deaths or suffered improper burials would be denied entry into the underworld. Doomed to walk the Earth, ekimmus troubled mankind by wreaking misfortune and destruction upon the living. These restless souls could also possess mortal bodies and proved to be very difficult to exorcise (Guiley, 2005, p. 117).

Ancient Greek mythology spoke of several blood-thirsty beasts and beings. Empusae, ghostly daughters of the goddess Hecate, frightened travellers to death and lured young men to bed to drain their life energies (Atsma, 2000, Empusa & Lamiae; Guiley, 2005, p. 117). Dark, grim-eyed keres, female death-spirits, hovered over battlefields to drink the blood of the wounded and dying. Some of the keres also personified plague and pestilence (Atsma, 2000).

The half-serpentine monster Lamia was yet another mythic beast that stalked the Grecian night. Once a mistress of the god Zeus, Lamia suffered a fell transformation at the hands of his jealous wife Hera. The goddess also destroyed all of Lamia’s children that arose from her illicit union with the lord of Olympus. Angered by her terrible fate, Lamia swore to kill the children of others. The lamiae became a class of female demons who stole newborns and seduced young men to feed on tender flesh and pure blood (Curran, 2006, p. 19; Guiley, 2005, p. 175; Matthews & Matthews, 2005, p. 361).

The Greek dead did not always remain in their graves. Dead men were known to shout abuses, torment passers-by, attack descendants and former neighbours, and even seek sexual intercourse with their grieving spouses. The Greeks that crossed between the worlds of the dead and the living appeared not as wispy phantoms, but rather as corporeal revenants, fully capable of maiming or even killing those around them (Curran, 2006, p. 17).

The Romans adopted many of the same terrifying beings found in Greek mythology, but they also added a few nightmares of their own. Along with the erotic night terrors known as incubi and succubae, Romans feared encountering horrible striges, female avian monstrosities that drank blood and spread disease (Curran, 2006, p. 20). Possibly born through the metamorphosis of hags into dreadful birds of prey, striges possessed misshapen heads and plundering claws. Poisonous milk filled their ungainly breasts. According to certain accounts, striges would peck at infants to feed on their blood and bowels or cause illness by offering children their poisoned milk (Curran, 2006, p. 20; Guiley, 2005, p. 268; Simboli, 1921, p. 33). Carna, the goddess of door hinges, could chase them away with magical incantations and rituals involving an arbutus branch, “drugged” water, and a white thorn twig (Simboli, 1921, p. 33).

Ancient cultures created a host of foul entities that exhibited many of the characteristics found in more recent vampire lore. Lilith, Ornias, empusae, keres, Lamia, and striges all dined on the blood, flesh, or life force of hapless humans. Striges and keres were also associated with disease, a trait shared with later vampire traditions. Ekimmus and Greek revenants returned from the dead to wreak havoc upon the living. Furthermore, some of the devices effective against many of these marauding beings, such as holy symbols and charms, were similar to what might be found in a vampire hunter’s array of armaments. Although certain aspects involving their creation and appearance differed from those found in later vampire beliefs, ancient vampiric creatures were thought to be as much a threat to humanity as their more recent cousins.

References

Atsma, A. J. (2000). Keres, in theoi greek mythology. Retrieved Feb. 20, 2008, from
http://www.theoi.com/Daimon/Keres.html

Atsma, A. J. (2000). Empusa and lamiae, in theoi greek mythology. Retrieved Feb. 20, 2008, from
http://www.theoi.come/Phasma/Empousai.html

Curran, B. (2006). Encyclopedia of the Undead: A Field Guide to the Creatures That Cannot Rest in Peace. Franklin Lakes: The Career Press.

Guiley, R. E. (2005). The Encyclopedia of Vampires, Werewolves, and Other Monsters. New York: Checkmark Books.

Matthews, J., & Matthews, C. (2005). The Elemental Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures: The Ultimate A-Z Guide of Fantastic Beings From Myth and Legend. London: HarperElement.

Peterson, J. H. (1997). The testament of Solomon (F. C. Conybeare, Trans.). In twilit grotto: Archives of western esoterica. Retrieved Feb. 20, 2008, from
http://www.esotericarchives.com/solomon/testament.htm

Richardson, B. (n.d.). Vampires in myth and history. The vampire’s vault. Retrieved Feb 20, 2008, from
http://www.chebucto.ns.ca/~vampire/vhist.html

Simboli, C. R. (1921). Disease-Spirits and Divine Cures Among the Greeks and Romans. New York: Columbia University. Retrieved Feb. 20, 2008, from
http://books.google.come/books?id=NvsHAAAAIAAJ

(Article originally published in Hungur, Issue 6, Walpurgisnacht, 2008.)

Fantasy Short Story "An Evil in Carnlinton"

An Evil in Carnlinton

By Richard H. Fay

With hoarse cries of “Rape! Murder! Sacrilege!” Father Ifan raised the hue-and-cry in the village of Glannonford. “Derog and his band of miscreants have violated and killed the miller’s daughter and desecrated the high altar!”

The priest raced along the dirt lane that wound through his parish and called for all freemen and villeins to pursue the nefarious half-ogre and his criminal cohorts. However, few of Ifan’s timid flock dared join the chase. They were wary of confronting bullies who took pleasure in tormenting each and every villager and passing traveller who crossed their path.  They especially feared the half-breed’s unnatural strength and propensity for violence.

Those appointed watchmen for the day advanced warily toward the ramshackle hovel wherein the brute’s maltreated mother resided. Their bravery failed them completely when Derog appeared in the cottage’s crooked doorway. Unafraid of the village watchmen and ready to challenge their authority, the half-ogre brandished a long-hafted axe and snarled an angry oath of bloody mayhem that sent the warders running.

Not content with simply scaring the cowards, Derog overtook the nearest warder and split the man’s skull from pate to jaw with one blow of his great axe. He then glared at Father Ifan. The priest’s face grew deathly pale. Derog chuckled. Something that resembled a smile slid across his bestial face.

“Now I think I will silence this goddamn priest,” Derog threatened. He raised his axe, but then his pricked ears picked up the sound of hoof beats to the north. He turned, and his black eyes caught sight of three horsemen riding swiftly down the lane from the lord’s crenelated manor house. The half-ogre shot the priest a final menacing look and then loped past his mother’s cot and across the grassy sward that lay between it and the river Glannon. Long, powerful legs carried the ruffian across the swollen stream and over the adjacent field of knee-high winter wheat. He disappeared into the wooded verge that marked the edge of the manor just as the riders reached the spot where Father Ifan stood, too shaken to move.

“After him!” The lead horseman barked to his fellow riders. “He may be seeking to rejoin his comrades. Follow and apprehend the lot! Take them alive if you can, dead if you must. I will find out what I can from Father Ifan.”

As his underlings drove their mounts toward the mill bridge, Blethin Abeynon, Lord of Glannonford and under-sheriff of Dolbrinshire, dismounted and placed a strong but comforting hand on Father Ifan’s quaking shoulder. Almost as tall and broad-shouldered as the ogre-spawn, Blethin was fair in features where Derog was foul. Renowned for his even-temper and equitable dispensation of justice as well as his martial skills, the Lord of Glannonford had earned the admiration and respect of both knightly peer and lowly cottar. Even though his bearded face displayed little emotion as he spoke to the parish priest, an inherent kindliness shone in his bright blue eyes.

“Tarrant the Blacksmith came knocking at my door to tell me you have accused Derog and his fellow rogues of rape, murder, and sacrilege” Blethin said. “Now I see Daykin lying dead, his brains spilled onto the road. Father, what has happened here?”

“M...m...my lord Abeynon, I saw a horrific sight when I entered the church this morn,” Father Ifan replied as tears ran down his colourless cheeks. “I found the front door battered down. Inside, I discovered the unclothed and beaten body of Addienna, the miller’s daughter, draped across the high altar like a debauched sacrifice to the evil one himself.” A sobbing fit interrupted the holy man’s tale.  

“And what makes you believe Derog and his followers are responsible for this despicable act?” Blethin queried. His eyes now betrayed a hint of anger. 

Father Ifan explained that bloody handprints besmirched the maid’s bruised flesh and the defiled altar. The extraordinary length and breadth of some of those marks left no doubt as to the culprit. Out of all the villagers, only the half-ogre possessed such large hands, a legacy of his inhuman sire.

“And is Derog responsible for Daykin’s death as well?”  Blethin asked. Father Ifan nodded.

“I have allowed Derog’s evil to flourish when I should have stamped it out ere it had a chance to grow!” Blethin declared. “I have been lax in my duties here, too often drawn away from home by joust and war. Even so, until now, Derog’s crimes warranted little more than a week in the stocks or a month in lock-up, not that the stocks or lock-up ever held that scoundrel for long.  Now he must pay with his life.” 

Blethin leapt into the saddle, unbuckled his broad-bladed falchion from its scabbard, and held the weapon aloft. “Either by my sword, or by the hangman’s noose, Derog will pay for the lives he has taken!”     

The Lord of Glannonford then spurred his stallion into a hard gallop to follow the course his sergeant and bailiff had taken in pursuit of the murdering half-ogre. The trail of footprints and hoof prints led across the field, into the woods, and along a meandering footpath. Since he knew most of the highways and byways that cut through his manor and the surrounding lands, Blethin guessed where his quarry was headed.

“Derog is bound for the Carnlinton Way, but why?” Blethin muttered. “What madness has driven him in that direction?” Blethin suspected the worst, and drove his horse even harder. He wished he had donned brigandine and basinet prior to riding out, but he resigned himself to handling the situation armed as he was. Strong arm and cleaving blade would have to suffice to bring Derog to justice.

As Blethin neared the road, he heard shouts and the ringing clang of steel on steel. Once he rounded the last bend in the forest path and came within sight of the disused way, he saw Sergeant Badan Terfyst standing behind his fallen steed. The old soldier valiantly defended himself against three ruffians armed with wickedly long knives. Adaf Pengrek, Glannonford’s bailiff, lay lifeless upon the weedy track, his side pierced by a spear point. With bloodied spear in hand and gore-streaked axe hung from the saddle, Derog sat astride the dead man’s mount as if he were a depraved captain commanding a band of marauding mercenaries.

With a war-cry on his lips, Blethin burst from the treeline and rode down the knife-wielding rogues. In a short, sharp action one lost an arm, another lost his head, and the third dropped his weapon and ran for his life. The under-sheriff of Dolbrinshire then turned his courser about to face the villainous half-ogre.

Angered but not daunted by the loss of his men, Derog charged with spear held high. Blethin deftly set the shaft aside with his sword and then swung at his foe. Derog jabbed his heels into the horse’s flanks. Blethin’s blade cut only air.

“You will never put a halter around my neck!” Derog cried as the maddened beast bolted down the road.

Ever concerned for the men in his service, Blethin forwent chasing headlong after the fleeing felon to see if there was anything he could do for the bailiff. The man’s glazed eyes and ashen cheeks left no doubt that he was beyond all hope. Badan shuffled over, crossed himself, and breathed a quick prayer. 

“Are you hurt?” Blethin asked. He saw that the old warrior clutched his left arm. A dark stain spread down his tunic sleeve.   
 
“Only a sore backside when I tumbled off my dying horse, plus a few minor knife wounds” the grizzled veteran stated gruffly. “Tis nothing worse than I have suffered in the past. Those wretches lacked real skill with a blade.”

“Come on, you tough old boar,” Blethin smiled as he helped Badan climb up behind him. “If you can suffer riding upon Maelris’s rump, we best be after the head wretch. I hate to leave Adaf like this, fodder for the carrion birds, but duty demands I bring Derog to justice. That devil has a growing list of crimes to answer for.”

“You can add the killing of a damn fine rouncy and the theft of a decent hackney to that list,” Badan said. He always bemoaned the loss of a good horse.

“And the murder of Adaf,” Blethin added.

“Aye,” Badan nodded.

Mounted upon Blethin’s courser, the two men set off after the half-ogre. A trail of trampled grass and churned earth showed that Derog never wandered from the seldom-used road, but rode straight toward Carnlinton. Both men shuddered at the thought, for that long-abandoned city had a sinister reputation. It was said that the restless dead assailed any and all living souls foolish enough to enter through Carnlinton’s tumbledown gates.  

As the trees thinned, the riders spotted their quarry in the distance. Beyond the forest and the fleeing half-ogre, the ruin of Carnlinton sat in a low, broad vale situated between two gorsy ridgelines. A grey mist swirled about the town’s dilapidated structures and spilled over its crumbling walls. Only the tallest stone towers of cathedral and castle stretched completely above that obfuscating pall.

A vaulted entranceway passed through Carnlinton’s derelict gatehouse. Derog savagely drove his stolen horse down this passageway and was swallowed up by the murk. Blethin pursued the outlaw right up to the threshold, but his courser stopped short of the archway. The beast whinnied and pawed at the earth.  

“Maelris has no desire to enter that accursed place,” Badan said. “To be quite honest, neither do I.”

Blethin sighed. He remembered the story of Carnlinton his grandsire used to tell on long winter nights. While storm winds howled outside, the old man would prop himself up in a well-cushioned inglenook placed before the hearth and recite the chronicle of the city’s sad history.

In defiance of warnings from local wise women and seers, Carnlinton’s founders located their town at the very feet of the Carn Hills, where ancient lords rested uneasily beneath their rocky burial mounds. To do so risked offending the elder spirits and falling under a dire curse, but the founders scoffed at such a notion and laid the foundations of a city where no mortal being should ever have settled.

Several years after Carnlinton was first founded a series of sieges and plagues ravaged the city. A baleful shadow then crept in and shrouded the ill-fated town’s streets in an eldritch haze. Those citizens who had survived the devastation of war and disease found no comfort behind the town’s battle-scarred ramparts, for dreadful revenants began to roam its sunless avenues and alleyways. The living fled and left Carnlinton to the dead.

Blethin feared no mortal man. Death did not frighten him; he had seen enough of it on campaign and in his capacity as under-sheriff of Dolbrinshire. However, fallen souls who refused to remain in their graves made his blood run cold. Tales of shimmering spectres and wailing phantoms prowling Carnlinton’s otherwise empty streets troubled him greatly, but duty and honour required that Blethin do what must be done, regardless of his fears. 

“I may have little desire to enter Carnlinton, but enter it I must,” Blethin stated. He suppressed an involuntary shiver.

“There’s evil in there!” Badan declared.

“And Derog has brought evil to Glannonford,” Blethin pointed out. “His path leads into the town. Like it or not, that is the path I must follow.”  

“I have followed you into battle, and I have followed you in the hunt of many a thief and murderer, but I cannot follow you into that place,” Badan groaned. He slipped off the back of Blethin’s horse. “My limbs go numb at the sight of it. Call me a coward, but my courage has finally failed me.”

“I would never call you a coward,” Blethin said. He understood Badan’s trepidations all too well. He also knew the sergeant’s worth as soldier and deputy. “If you cannot go any farther, guard the road. Make sure Derog does not leave Carnlinton by a different gate and head back to Glannonford.”

“Aye,” Badan grunted. “I will do as you command, but you had better come back from that place, do you hear? I have grown too old and grey to break in another untrained lord.” The grizzled sergeant then grudgingly walked away and left his friend and captain alone before the walls of Carnlinton. 

“May duty and honour conquer my fear!” Blethin proclaimed, and then dug his spurs hard into Maelris’s sides to coerce the skittish horse through the gate and into the haunted city.

***

Daylight seemed to shun the forsaken ramparts and deserted domiciles of Carnlinton. The town was cloaked in perpetual twilight. Dim shapes drifted through the gloom, but always remained on the very edge of sight. Blethin’s mount sensed more than its rider could see, for every so often the beast snorted and neighed, disturbed by something unseen.

Clip! Clop! Clip! Clop!

Blethin heard the sound of iron-shod hooves striking cobblestone, as if another horse followed close behind. A pull on the reins brought Maelris to a halt. The clip-clopping stopped. Blethin looked over his shoulder, but he saw no one. A light kick got Maelris moving again. The strange hoof beats echoed once more. Blethin brought his horse to a halt a second time. This time, the uncanny sounds did not abate, but went right past horse and rider, accompanied by a frigid rush of air that alarmed the man and startled his mount.

“Whoa!” Blethin called as calmly as he could while he fought hard to control his jumpy courser. The last thing he wanted was to be upon a panicked horse as it hurtled wildly down Carnlinton’s dusky thoroughfare.

“Easy, boy, easy!”

Ahead of the Lord of Glannonford, where two broad byways crossed, the pervasive mist churned. It coalesced into the translucent figure of a spectral knight clad in the antiquated war-gear of an earlier age. An old-fashioned flat-topped helm sat upon his head. A voluminous surcoat covered his mailed body, reaching down to his knees. His pallid destrier lacked both caparison and bard. The ghostly champion tipped his pennoned lance in a mute challenge and then charged.

Maelris jumped and seemed ready to fly, but the familiar feel of Blethin’s legs pressing against his flanks in anticipation of imminent combat riled his hot-blood and turned his fear into aggression. The courser’s breeding, training, and experience in battle overrode his natural instinct to flee.

If he had been armed for the joust, Blethin would have met the knight lance to lance. Instead, at the last moment he veered his mount to one side to avoid his opponent’s lance-point, stood in his stirrups, and brought his falchion down in a mighty hewing blow. Blethin’s blade cleaved right through the apparition, which promptly vanished with a quavering howl.

Absolutely terrified by the shade’s departing ululation, no amount of breeding or training kept Maelris from galloping away in mad fright. Blethin struggled to stay in the saddle. When he was finally reined in his spooked steed, he found himself in the market square sited below the frowning façade of Carnlinton’s decaying cathedral.

The black cyclopean eye of the cathedral’s rose window, long devoid of its beautifully stained glass, gazed mournfully over the square. To either side of that cheerless opening, spireless bell towers reached toward the heavens, as if pleading for relief from the town’s tragic curse. Naked vaulting bent over the cathedral’s decrepit interior like the bare ribs of a fleshless carcass.

Faint silhouettes in the barest semblance of human form wandered the perimeter of the paved plaza that stretched out beneath the basilica’s weatherworn face. They wafted past vacant shop fronts and glided in and out of empty doorways. They murmured amongst themselves, their dusty words whispered too softly to be understood. When they caught sight of the mortal in their midst they gathered around the Lord of Glannonford in a nebulous throng. He could feel the pulsing beat of his heart quicken as the ghosts closed in. 

“Away with you!” Blethin cried. “I am under-sheriff of Dolbrinshire, appointed by the Lord High Sheriff himself to keep the king’s peace in this corner of the realm. I have come here in pursuit of a vile breaker of that peace. Assail me not!"

Moved by Blethin’s noble manner, righteous authority, and unshaken bravery, the phantoms drew back. Indefinite shapes grew more distinct as the unearthly residents of Carnlinton lingered about the square. Each one took on the appearance they wore in life. Shade adopted the guise of merchant in fur-lined robe, craftsman in gaily-dyed tunic, housewife in long-skirted gown, or guardsman in stoutly padded gambeson.

Out of the phantasmal ranks arose one more sumptuously attired than the rest. A burgher garbed in richly embroidered vermilion velvet stood before Blethin and lifted his hand in greeting.

“I…was…mayor…here,” the apparition spoke falteringly, as if sepulchral dust choked its words. “You have sworn to uphold the king’s peace?”

Blethin nodded.

“Then free us from the evil that lays unrightful claim to this town and disturbs our peace.”

“I have come here in pursuit of a murdering half-ogre, not to rid this place of whatever curse has befallen it!” Blethin declared.

“If you value peace and justice, free us from the evil,” the ghostly mayor insisted. His form wavered as his tone grew more demanding.

The apparition’s adjuration stirred Blethin’s sense of duty. Upon his appointment as undersheriff, Blethin had sworn to preserve order and enforce justice. He was a man of his word. As a noble knight and a guardian of the peace who never failed to answer a cry for help, he felt honour-bound to aid Carnlinton’s unquiet dead.

“Very well,” Blethin breathed. “I will try to banish the evil, if that is even possible. What must I do?”

“He whom you seek, and the evil that troubles us, are both within the walls of the Earl’s keep,” the apparition said as he pointed a bony finger up the cobbled street. Then he and his preternatural entourage melted back into the mist.

Blethin’s mount grew more and more nervous as he tromped nearer and nearer the northern edge of the haunted city. Suddenly, the stark ashlar-faced walls of the Earl’s keep loomed up out of the murk. A foul miasma wafted up from an unclean stream that wound around two sides of the rectangular edifice. The sickening miasma assaulted the nostrils of man and horse alike.

Blethin dismounted. He looked for a place to tie the reins to keep Maelris from straying, but a ghastly cry of hideous pleasure sounded from within the forsaken fortress and sent the horse flying.

“Maelris!” Blethin called, to no avail. His loyal courser was soon out of sight. Realising there was no sense in chasing after the fleeing beast, Blethin resolved to do what must be done. He held his falchion at the ready and climbed the stone stairs that lead to the keep’s first floor entranceway. He crossed other the threshold and stepped into a deep gloom.

The wan greyness that passed for daylight in the haunted city barely penetrated through the narrow loopholes of the donjon’s forebuilding. Though the wooden upper floor and timbered roof had long since rotted away, the structure’s imposing walls held shards of midnight captive within its fusty interior. And yet, a dim yellow gleam glimmered in the darkness.

Blethin crept carefully toward the light. He found himself standing in the columned archway that led to the keep’s great hall. Across the hall’s colonnaded expanse, Blethin witnessed a scene that chilled him to the marrow.

Surrounded by burning rushlights, a marble throne stood upon the dais where the earl once held court. Upon this lordly perch sat a dwarfish abomination that most resembled a cathedral grotesquery. Derog knelt before the diminutive devil and placed his huge left mitt between both of the creature’s taloned hands. They performed a twisted mockery of the rite of homage and oath of fealty.

“Lord Iskilis”, the half-ogre addressed the devil like an underling would a nobleman. “On your command, I have raped, killed, and defiled holy ground. I now wish to become your man completely.”

“You have proven you could be a worthy vassal indeed,” Iskilis replied with a repugnant grin. “Here where I followed in the wake of disease and despair, here where my power holds sway over the restive dead, here where my rule reigns, I accept you as my man.” He produced a large tome bound in ebon leather. “Now swear to spread wickedness and disorder, to enforce the rule of darkness and malevolence. Swear your faith to me and my dark master.”

“I promise to be faithful to my Lord Iskilis and never cease to lie, to oppress, and to injure others in his name,” the half-ogre recited after he placed his hand on the black book. Then, while still on his knees, he embraced his liege and they exchanged a vulgar kiss.

Derog swore fealty to a devil! A devil! Blethin wondered if strong arm and cleaving blade would be enough to defeat such a foe. He thought it a matter for a priest and his prayers, not a knight and his sword. However, the task of opposing this terror had fallen to him, and he knew he must confront it, whatever the cost. If he were to die, at least he would die with honour. He took a deep breath to screw up his courage, mumbled a plea for divine assistance, and strode toward the half-ogre and his demonic lord.

“Derog!” The valorous Lord of Glannonford bellowed in a voice that reverberated in the lofty gloom. “Your campaign of evil stops here and now! You and your damnable lord cannot escape the sword of justice!”

“Kill him!” Iskilis screeched and then dove behind the throne. The dwarfish devil lacked true bravery when faced with a living adversary who wielded cold steel.

Derog grabbed his long-hafted axe off the flagstone where it had lain next to him and leapt to his feet. With axe raised high, he moved to meet Blethin, but the Lord of Glannonford struck first. One blow from Blethin’s stout-bladed falchion cleaved clean through Derog’s left shin. The return stroke took off his head.

Cold sweat dripped down Blethin’s brow as he stepped around Derog’s body and came face-to-face with the fallen half-ogre’s lord and master. Blethin hesitated; his legs had turned to stone. He lowered his weapon.

Iskilis sneered. He sensed Blethin’s courage falter. He lifted his clawed hands and unleashed a dark spell. Lightning flashed from his fingertips.

The searing blast knocked Blethin off his feet and slammed him against the south wall, right below an empty window. He slumped to the floor. Ringlets of smoke rose from his smouldering chest. He still breathed, but his strength had left him.

Glittering orbs darted through the embrasure above Blethin’s head. They fluttered down to the flagstone and transformed into luminous spirits whose brilliance rivalled the light of the sun on a bright summer’s day. Their radiance burned Iskilis, who shielded his eyes and whimpered in pain. 

Blethin heard bittersweet singing and saw the faces of the innocents killed in the devil’s name. Healing hands lifted him off the floor, and he felt a strange energy course through his veins. With revitalised vigour and renewed determination, Blethin marched toward Iskilis as the shining spirits sailed back out the window.

Iskilis again loosed lightning from his fingertips. This time, Blethin caught the searing bolt on the flat of his blade. Sparks flew from the steel, but Blethin continued to advance. With his magic defeated by iron and brave heart, Iskilis turned tail and scurried toward the winding stairway that led to the battlements. Blethin raced after him.

Once at the top of the spiral stairs, Iskilis ran to the nearest crenel and climbed the low parapet between two merlons. He spread his leathery wings, but before he could take flight, the Lord of Glannonford was upon him.

Blethin swung. Iskilis tried to side-step the slashing stroke, but moved too slowly to avoid the blow. Blethin’s blade hewed through Iskilis’s right wing. The maimed fiend howled a foul malediction and lashed out.

Burning talons ripped into Blethin’s sword arm. His falchion flew from his grasp and clattered across the allure flagstones. Before his diabolic opponent had a chance to release a sinister spell of destruction, the Lord of Glannonford tackled Iskilis and flung the undersized demon over the parapet.

A fiery pit opened up beneath Iskilis ere he hit the ground. The flailing devil screamed as he plummeted down that flaming chasm. A blazing gale blew upward as the hellish maw snapped shut. Tossed into the air, Blethin landed in a heap upon the battlement walkway. All went black.

***

“Get up, my Lord Abeynon. Come on, lad, on your feet.”

Blethin opened his eyes to see his faithful sergeant standing over him.

“Am I alive, or are heavenly angels not as beautiful as churchly sculpture would lead us to believe?” Blethin murmured.

“You still live,” Badan replied. “Though ’twas a close thing. It looks like you were a hand’s breadth away from falling over the edge. Lucky you did not plunge to your death.”

Blethin peered over the inner edge of the allure. With the roof and upper floor gone, it was a two-storey drop to the great hall.

“Lucky indeed,” Blethin breathed. 

“Now on your feet,” Badan grunted. “There is no way I am carrying you all the way home.”

With the sergeant’s help, Blethin got to his feet. His sinews ached and his head throbbed, but he was very much alive.

“I thought I ordered you to guard the road,” Blethin said. “I thought you were too frightened to enter Carnlinton.”

“Aye, you did order me to watch the road.” Badan admitted. “Though being here makes my knees tremble, the vision of you meeting your death in this forsaken place helped me overcome my fear. When I spied Maelris wandering the field outside the city wall, I suspected you might require aid.”

“How did you find me?” Blethin wondered.

“’Twas the dead,” Badan responded in a hushed whisper. “As soon as I passed through the gate, tattered phantoms gathered about me. They beckoned me to follow as they floated through the roiling mist. They led me right up to castle doorway and motioned that I should enter. Not knowing what else to do, I did just that.”

“Are you no longer afraid of the restless dead?” Blethin asked.

“I think it wise to let the dead rest in peace,” Badan replied. “However, the poor souls haunting this place do not terrify me quite as much as they once did.”

Blethin gripped the grizzled soldier’s shoulder and shot him an affable grin. The Lord of Glannonford shared his sergeant’s change of heart. He realised that the dead of Carnlinton should be pitied rather than feared.

“Shall we rejoin the realm of the living?” Blethin said.

“Aye,” Badan nodded.

With Badan’s assistance, Blethin hobbled down the stone stairs, across the length of the great hall, and through the forebuilding antechamber. As the two men reached the keep’s entranceway, they were greeted by the golden rays of the setting sun breaking through the murk. The mist rolled back from avenue and byway and dissipated like wisps of smoke carried off by a spring zephyr. 

“The fog may finally be lifting,” Badan stated.

“Along with the curse, perhaps?” Blethin suggested.

As the mist vanished from Carnlinton, so too did the town’s revenant shades. Hazy forms of merchants, artisans, housewives, and guardsmen vanished in the sunlight. Pleasant warmth drove away the dank chill that had clung for so long to Carnlinton’s cobbled streets.

Blethin smiled when he sighted Maelris grazing on fresh grass just outside the city gate. With Badan’s help, he climbed into the saddle. Badan clambered up behind him, and knight and sergeant rode double all the way back to Glannonford.    

In dusk’s half-light, as Maelris carried the two men up to the manor house threshold, Blethin gazed pensively up at the stonework above the entryway. He stared at his father’s arms, which had been carved there a generation ago. He felt something was missing. 

“You know, Badan, it is time I adopt a motto,” the Lord of Glannonford said. “My threshold looks dolefully plain adorned with just a blazon. I propose to have ‘may duty and honour conquer my fear’ engraved above the shield. How does that sound to you?”

“That sounds fine indeed,” the old sergeant grinned.

 

(Originally published in Sorcerous Signals, Feb - Apr '14 Issue, February 2014, and reprinted in Mystic Signals, Issue 20, 5th Anniversary Double Issue, February 2014.)

Drabble "The Stars Weren't Really Right After All"

The Stars Weren't Really Right After All

by Richard H. Fay

A propitious stellar alignment enabled a monstrosity to escape its abyssal prison. As the leviathan coursed upward, thoughts of reconquering the planet’s sunlit surface streamed through its belligerent mind.

Almost free of its oceanic confinement, the fiend was shocked to discover that the sea had formed a solid crust. With a final surge, it smashed through the shell.

Swirling snows fell from a leaden sky and drifted across endless ice. The behemoth shook its gargantuan head in disgust and sunk down into the depths. It hoped it would find a more hospitable clime the next time the stars were right.

Originally published in THE DRABBLER #19: CLIMATE CHANGE, September 2011.

Fantasy Poem "The Brownie"

Yet more poetry from my now out-of-print collection.

Fantasy poem "The Brownie" published Aug 2013 in FrostFire Worlds 1, July 2015 in the webzine Aphelion, and Oct 2016 in the webzine Altered Reality Magazine.

Illustration published in FrostFire Worlds 1 and Altered Reality Magazine.

The Brownie

By Richard H. Fay

Sweep, sweep, sweep,
Clean the farmhouse floor in secret
While tired mortal family sleeps.
Wipe the table, dust the cupboard,
Keep this farmer’s home looking neat.

Churn, churn, churn,
Perform certain household magic
By making butter out of cream.
Then reap the stalks and thresh the wheat, 
Finish farmhand’s chores left undone.

Wash, wash, wash,
Dirty dishes left in the sink.
Splash in frothy suds as moon shines,
Then dry the dripping forks and plates.
Stack them up before dawn arrives.

Sip, sip, sip,
From a small bowl of warm milk placed
Near the hearth, within easy reach. 
As humble reward for my work,
‘Tis all I ever really need.

Listen, listen, listen, 
Hear the farmer’s wife sneak a peek
At this brownie’s nightly labours.
She spies hairy sprite dressed in rags
And decides to give a grand gift.

Dance, dance, dance,
Reel ‘round the house in giddy glee.
Garbed in bright green breeches and coat
Given in unknowing kindness,
I gladly sing of my toil’s end.

Away, away, away, 
Be slaving brownie no longer.
This fine fay lad clad in new clothes
Will now become a fairy free
And work away his night no more. 

Sci-Fi Cinquain "They've Come For Me Again"

More poetry from my now out-of-print collection...

Speculative/sci-fi cinquain "They've Come For Me Again"  published Nov 2008 in the webzine APHELION and Oct 2009 in ABANDONED TOWERS (online).

Illustration "They've Come For Me Again" originally published Oct 2009 in ABANDONED TOWERS (online).

Cinquain "Oakmen"

Here's another cinquain that was exclusive to my now-out-of-print speculative poetry collection, meaning it hadn't been previously published in a zine or anthology, but I have shared it online before: "Oakmen".

Background in above image digital manipulation of image by Csaba Nagy from Pixabay.

Oakmen

By Richard H. Fay

Shadows
beneath oak boughs
gather near fallen trees
to wreak bitter vengeance upon
axe men.

Sci-Fi Poem "Galactic Road Trip"

Out of all of the poems I've penned to-date, this is one of my all-time favorites!

Speculative/sci-fi poem "Galactic Road Trip" originally published Summer 2008 in Tales of the Talisman Volume IV, Issue 1, and also published Oct 2008 in the online version of Abandoned Towers.

Illustration "Galactic Road Trip (2018)" originally published Feb 2021 in Spaceports & Spidersilk.

Galactic Road Trip

By Richard H. Fay

Time and space being relative,
One can always burn the former
To travel through the latter.
Fire up the plasma drive,
Pack your environment suit,
Tune in an ambient wave,
And go for a galactic joy ride!

Zip to the Zynterra System.
Sip some puguberry wine
At the Corrosive Cafe.
Watch the blue binary suns set
Over the yellow Sulphur Sea.
Pay your bill (or not) and take off
Before the acid tide surges in.

Rocket to Ragobomax.
Witness the rainbow ion storm
And get an energizing jolt
From the glowing electron stream.
Visit the robotics chop-shop.
Buy a chrome-plated co-pilot
And program in the next stop.

Star hop to Hyptaris.
See qualumps cross the orange sands
And follow the Strill caravans
To the celestial bazaar.
Make your way to the Darkside Club.
Dance the eternal night away,
But leave before the end of time.

Dive into the nearest wormhole,
Slingshot through the fifth dimension,
Accelerate faster than light.
Break the temporal barrier,
Spy the universal secrets,
Give your past self a friendly wave,
Then sail the solar winds home. 

Fantasy Poem "Fantasyku"

 

Fantasy poem "Fantasyku" originally published Dec 2007 in Niteblade, Issue 1, and republished Dec 2011 in Niteblade, Issue 18, Special Poetry Issue.

Background illustration detail from "Mighty Steed, White Dragon" originally published as cover art for Kids'Magination, Issue 2, Aug 2011.

Fantasyku

By Richard H. Fay

growing darkness
a swelling evil horde
warlock’s legions

an orphan’s tears
cry of the innocent
a call to arms

mystic creation
keen lines reflect moonlight
enchanted sword

limned starlight
inscribed parchment scroll
magic spell

swift and mighty steed
veteran of many battles
loyal white dragon

forbidding castle
perched atop a distant cloud
fortress of nightmares

powers collide
a savage storm unleashed
sorcerous fray

the break of day
dawn over a freed land
glad celebrations

Originally published September 2007 in Niteblade

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